Intermezzo
by SkullCracked
Summary: The movements between Maka and Soul are profound and simple, flowing and ever evolving on their road to save the world. Some glimpses of 'what-ifs' in their daily lives, and possibilities to come. Chapters may be out of order in some places, rated between T and M.
1. Growing Into It

AN: This will stand for the whole series, so I don't have to do it chapter by chapter: I do not own Soul Eater, its characters, world, etc. They are the sole property of their rightful and wonderful owner. Any mentions of other copy-righted people, places, things, or concepts is either coincidental or is done with no profit or claim of ownership.

Chapters are rated individually but are T or higher, mostly for language and progression; you'll be warned in an AN at the chapter's beginning.

This chapter is T (very soft side of T, at that).

 **Intermezzo** : A short movement or interlude connecting the main parts of the composition.

* * *

 **Growing Into It**

There is a deep-set empathy between strong souls. It beats with a virile and primal unending note that other levels of empathy pale in comparison to. It undulates without ending, changes without distorting, expresses without confusing. When two souls that are compatible meet, they know. There's a sense, a tug, a nudge, a pull; that vague "you should go over there" sensation that most people have felt at some point in life, about something, no matter how trivial. Or how life-altering. Maka Albarn had never considered herself illiterate in anything. Ever.

Until she met Soul Eater.

Even among her Death City norm he stood out. More because he didn't. He fit in without being a Death Child, he was an outsider lost to their world but now was found. He was not the first non-native Weapon to come to the DWMA, but he was the only one from whom she felt a tinkling tug of accord. There was something to him, his stance, his baleful stare, the watchful nervousness beneath it. His very presence emanated a nervous shark pup, suddenly surrounded by full grown members of its own, dangerous kind. Under the layers, she could tell he was not one to be second-guessed, or over-looked. So she pounced the moment she found out he was a scythe. Under Maka's firm hand, and having practically grown up in Shibusen, things moved steadily forward from there.

Maka learned early and quickly that living with Soul Eater was both the easiest, and most frustrating part of her Meister career. Her Papa was beside himself when he learned she'd found a scythe (just like him!) to partner with; then he was beside himself for a whole other reason when he learned said scythe was a _Boy_ \- just like him. This was Soul's initial meeting with the Death Scythe, and what would start their discordant mutual dislike of each other, like rubato sways of Maka's daily life. But that wasn't even the half of it. She hardly had to deal with her Papa on a daily basis; Soul was another story. He pushed buttons she didn't even know she had, toeing lines with belligerent respect, while simultaneously scoping out weaknesses purely for the sole purpose of protecting them from outside threats.

His instincts were phenomenal, when he didn't force them under his ridiculous boy Cool Code. It was her job to help break him of this habit, to ease him into their partnership and being able to trust each other wholly and unconditionally. She tried to relate to him, though he wasn't nearly as into reading and books as she could've hoped. So he tried to share his music, but he found that she had such shit taste in the subject, she was an absolute lost cause. Maka never quite got over his disdain for her favorite groups, and it was back to the drawing board. As they pushed ever forward, she would learn the limits of him, the soundness of his mind, his body and his soul. The amplifications would build, and so would the bond, until eventually a friendship would bloom between herself and the scythe she had previously not looked at much deeper than a talented Weapon with an incredible spiritual passion and affinity for music.

Soul Eater was her Weapon, he was her responsibility; he was snarky, crass, impressionable, a little apathetic and probably as psychopathic as any Shibusen student should be. He was a testament to his Weapon blood, loyal to a fault, incisive, intelligent and talented, swaying his power through his soul and into hers with a beat and a rhythm she didn't need a working knowledge of classical music to understand. It _moved_ her, and it moved them both, ever forward. He was her Weapon, and he was her friend - he was a pillar she could support herself with when needed, and when wanted. She was terrified of this, and terrified to let go. It was somewhere in this contradiction, of Boy and friend and Weapon, that Maka placed her soul with the utmost confidence.

"My name is Maka Albarn. My Mama is the best scythe Technician in history, and my Papa is Lord Death's current Death Scythe.

And you're going to replace him."

* * *

Soul learned early and quickly that living with and being partnered to the Legacy that was Maka Albarn meant there was no room for any bullshit between them. She would ask no questions, since he was stalwart not to answer, but he would tell her no lies, either. He could carry his Cool Guy act with anyone else he wanted, anytime, anywhere, but where she was concerned: no, nuh-uh, not gonna happen. Open, honest, straight-forward, spit it out or shut up, use it or lose it, was the only way Maka Albarn operated with the Demon Weapon she was aiming to make into the next Death Scythe. Because, quite frankly, under Lord Death's guidance, with the abilities they wielded and the forces they were up against, there just _wasn't time_. Both of them felt it, knew it soul-deep, even if Soul hadn't been born to the same world she had.

That was ok, though, because as they talked that first day of meeting, and as he walked her down to the record store he'd found with the piano to play his soul for her, they both realized this pace was ok. She could _feel_ his soul, and _liked_ what he could do - after so many years of only hearing this from his brother, whom he was convinced was supposed to say those things, being his older sibling and all, it was pretty cool to hear it from someone unrelated. Someone who wasn't weirded out, grossed out, superficially curious about his shark's teeth, stark hair and the chronic-insomnia that lined his red irises. She had no obligation to be nice, to accept him. But she did, fully and almost unconditionally. They could work with this, and they would.

He'd adjust to this fast-paced, dangerous new existence, because he was cool like that, and Maka would lead him, because she was a Meister with a legend to live up to. And, as he'd learned, being raised to Death Scythe status was the single most coolest level any Demon Weapon like him could accomplish. It was almost a little overwhelming for him, at first. The training was immediate, and as hard-core as she could possibly make it without breaking him. He had a lot of catching up to do, after all. She'd been swinging around practice weapons for as long as he'd been sitting on his tiny bottom at the ivories, barely-older-than-toddler fingers too small on the big black and white keys. No recitals, concert halls or over-bearing parents and instructors could've prepared him for the insane capabilities and expectations of his new Technician.

No wonder she was skinny as a rail and flat as a board, she had nothing in her that wasn't burned to fuel the mighty soul and lithe muscle that could take down a full-grown man, much less half wild Kishin Eggs, wielding him as if he weighed as much as a toothpick - not just because his soul allowed it, either, but because she was insanely determined. But she wasn't heartless about it, most of the time. His soul practically sang and reached out for hers more and more each time she pushed him through hours of repetitive drills. She used the full name he'd chosen (he believed _Eater_ to be pretty cool, and he privately enjoyed the irony of naming himself his literal function) for every praise or command she gave, letting him know when it was time for business or when something he'd done had mattered. Without saying it aloud, Soul had quickly become pretty attached to these tones of voice, and the way his chosen name rang from her throat to his soul.

None of it was a particularly easy adjustment - training (they still couldn't get Resonance down) or otherwise. He liked that he and Maka would share their own place, because he liked his privacy and it helped them bond. It helped that Soul was so new to everything in Death City, because he soaked up those first months of classes pretty eagerly. Not that anyone but Maka could tell, since he slumped forward or backward in his seat most of the time in the auditorium, often to reinforce his Cool Guy image - but mostly just because of how friggin' exhausted he usually was. It'd taken a few Maka-chops and some heavy scrutinizing before Maka could learn to tell the difference but eventually she did, and the chops were reserved for when he legitimately tried to sleep through a lecture or weasel out of class.

Especially after he met Black*Star, and Maka had to deal with a different kind of fallout from that blooming bromance. Thankfully, she was already used to her uncanny friend and his boisterous antics, so adding Soul to the mix wasn't an undue burden. More of an extra challenge. And Maka Albarn was nothing if not enthusiastic about _any_ challenge. It wasn't unusual when Soul and Black*Star had to hide from _her_ pranks.

But through the rare breaks to be a teenager and the lessons Soul discretely soaked up, he took ever more seriously his job to defend and protect and guard his Meister. Her life mattered; mattered more than his. Without her, he would not be, he would go back to being a no-name, no-class, useless everyday human, trapped in his old life of inferior-brother complexes, over-taxed musical expectations, and pretentious society clubs. No Meister, no status, no amazing world of supernatural evils to protect humanity from. No world-renowned Death Scythe status to live up to. No freedom to be himself, to _find_ himself. His blood ran cold at just the thought.

As the lessons were drilled deeper and deeper into his subconscious, he vaguely began to realize that it wasn't even just the status that he was protecting. Maka wasn't just a Meister, wasn't even just his Meister. She was a warrior-protector, a human being, another innocent soul, a life that deserved to be lived. She was driven, she was inspiration, she was open-hearted love for those who needed her, she was unconditional acceptance and expectations he could meet, _wanted_ to meet. Stubborn, head-strong, bossy and violently aggressive, she was a strange, precious gem amongst so many semi-precious stones he'd come across. Gingerly at first, because he'd never known a Girl like her before, or known one so closely, she was even his friend.

And above all else, all of that mattered the most.

"This is who I am."

* * *

Because, in the end, she didn't choose him, and he didn't choose her.

They chose each other.

"Let's be partners."

* * *

(FIN.)

Extra AN: These chapters are all loosely connected, but with no real original plot - they also may not even be in the correct sequence of events; they're just the possibility of occurrences that went on behind the scenes of Soul and Maka's partnership. There are always things that can be read between the lines, and so here are some of my "what ifs" that I happened to see. I'm not sure how many I'll do, or how interesting they'll be, but feedback is of course always welcome! If you give feedback that you were hoping for a response to, and I don't respond, just give me a poke with a sharper stick - sometimes it takes some prodding to get through them layers, y'know.


	2. Basketball

**AN:** Some flakey, candy coated slice of Life-pie. Make an appointment with your dentist now; author not responsible for possible sugar highs, or the resultant crashes that follow. Lots of dialogue, **T** (hard side of T, closer to M?) for so much foul language later in the chapter. Just to ease confusion, this bout of basketball ridiculousness takes place long before the game in the manga where Maka was voluntold as team captain. Run on sentences, FTW!

* * *

 **Basketball Can Bring You Together**

It wasn't like Shibusen is the only school in Death City. Or that they were the only teenagers growing up there. They just rarely saw or mingled with any of the civilian teens, since they were so often off in other parts of the country and the world, consuming corrupt souls and trying to hunt down a witch. But most of the time, on the occasions that they were home and out and about, Soul and Maka never really socialized a whole lot with anyone else near their age, outside of their other Meister and Weapon peers. Neither group was really bothered by this, as most of Death City natives took a grain of salt and a lot of friendly indifference from the kids that attended the mystic and dangerous school that protected them.

So it wasn't really something that Maka ever noticed, or gave any care to, when guys from the other schools would give her second glances in public. She was still adjusting to Soul Eater as her friend and not just her partner, and finally having a Weapon to raise up to Death Scythe and replace her lecherous Papa, whom had already put quite a skew on her romantic worldview as it was. Not that she was oblivious, as she was a blooming teenager aware of her peers, and well-trained to be observant of her surroundings. She just didn't register them as anything out of the ordinary. Noticing a few stray glances, or intently interested stares, was not high on her list of priorities of things to earn her scrutiny.

So Soul never initially noticed, either.

Up until the point that he'd solidified his partnership with his new Meister, and his instinctual and newly drilled-in protectiveness began to give him an itch on the back of his neck everytime he and Maka were out around parts of the city that younger people like them often frequented. The record store, the fast food joints, coffee shops, skate parks, basketball courts, whatever. It was seldom, though their partnership was fresh and they had some time between the lower level missions they were taking, but it was still time they spent hanging out together, trying to adjust to each other, and Soul trying to adjust to all of it.

Soul was naturally a little cynical and suspicious, traits that Maka oddly encouraged ("They're helpful to Weapons, Soul.") and he started to realize this itch meant they were being watched, particularly some sort of threat was eyeing his Meister. At first, he could never pinpoint it. There were just other people around, civilians, a lot of them near their age, some older teens among them. It began to frustrate him, because he knew he could trust his instincts but he couldn't interpret them yet.

Then Soul started to notice, confused, antsy and defensive. There'd always be _one guy_. One or two guys who stood out because of their shifty-eyed glances at Maka, and their completely obtrusive, awkward _just fucking standing and staring._ _Creepy, stalker, freaky, oily,_ _ **creeps**_ staring at his oblivious Technician. They would always start at a distance and then, quite overtly, move closer. And then closer. Soul didn't think for a second, even after so short a period of knowing her, that Maka needed him in any way other than a Weapon, but as the gentleman his mother raised him to be, he couldn't do anything less. He would start to herd Maka away from the area or activity until the dudes took a hint, or they lost them, but it was getting a little weird, even for him.

One afternoon, he just had to know. Maka was mostly his Technician, but she was also becoming his friend, and he needed to know if it was his buisness to step into this weird shit she seemed to be completely ignoring.

They were hanging out together at the small basketball court near their apartment, enjoying a little home time before Maka took another mission for them. Soul was in his favorite basketball shorts and his black tank top, practicing his hoops solo while Maka, dressed in her Daisy Dukes and form-fitting jersey, with a relatively modest sports bra beneath, sat on the sidelines on the bench, nose happily stuck in a textbook too big to be anything other than a headstone. It was all very mundane, and even his Meister's appearance was pretty plain and unexciting - considering how used to it he was by now, anyway. So Soul was pretty pissed that he'd been tracking another "watcher" from the corner of his eye all afternoon.

Some creeper at least three years their senior had taken up staring at his partner from what was obviously deemed a "safe" distance of several yards from the edge of the basketball court, technically still on the sidewalk. Soul finally snapped his limit when would-be pedo closed his perimeter another three steps, shifty-eyed and _dumbshit_ and everything. Soul loped his ball gently towards his partner's legs, satisfied when it lodged between the bench and the concrete next to her right ankle. He wandered over to her on the bench, giving the stink-eye to the sleaze across the way.

"Oi, Maka." He rumbled lowly, pleased that his voice decided not to crack today.

"Your ball's over here, Soul." She told him kindly, without even looking away from her book. He chuffed at her, sitting down next to her and leaning his elbows on his thighs. He jerked his chin and flashed his shark grin towards the creeper.

"Not that, Dork. You know this guy?"

"Huh?" She looked up finally, unfazed by his tease, peering around confusedly.

"What guy?"

"This guy." He points accusingly at the stalker teen trying to pretend to be inconspicuous with nothing to hide behind, and no one else around for a ten-yard radius.

"Soul Eater, don't point, that's rude! Especially when you're so bad at it, I can't even tell who you're pointing at." Maka lectures, sitting up straighter and scowling into Maka Instruction Mode.

"Can't te - Are you kidding me!?"

He growls at her and points even more ferociously at Freaky Boy, who's finally beginning to look like he should probably beat it.

"Do you know that guy! _Oi! You!_ You know her?!"

He shouts over Maka's growing ire, holding his arm over her and pointing down at her head, grabbing her chin with his other hand and pointing her face directly to Jack Hole, who's now red-faced and making a run for it like his ass is on fire. Maka blinks owlishly and is so confused by the display, and the protective rage she feels rolling from Soul, that she doesn't have it in her to lecture him any more for his outburst. Soul growls like the guard dog he's growing into being, dropping his arm but more belatedly releasing her chin.

"Fucking asshole." He rumbles at the guy.

"Language!"

Maka smacks him in the face with her tome, but at about minus-ninety percent Maka-chop level, still reeling from this very strange occurance and the fact that Soul had been so much more sensitive to a potential threat than Maka, for once. He was certainly learning! She felt a little proud of him for it.

"OW, FUH - my nose!" He growls again.

"No, I do not know who he was. What was he doing?"

Soul glares at her some more, hurt in his red eyes, rubbing his face tenderly with the ends of long, elegant fingers before he answers her guardedly,

"Staring. Creeping on you like a dirty pervert, s'what he was doin'. Him and about a dozen other guys. It's getting weird, Maka, is everybody in Death City like that?"

"What!? No!" Maka exclaims immediately, a little indignant, big green eyes wide.

Then the entirety of what he'd said catches up to her and she actually has to stop and think.

"I don't think so?" She says skeptically, frowning in thought and drumming bare fingers on her book. "What do you mean they're staring?" She asks.

"They're staring." He reiterates, as if it should explain everything, and why is she so dumb?

"What are they staring _at_?" She grinds out, trying to be patient with her Weapon, who'd finally shown some progress on his instincts today.

"You, Captain Obvious."

"Me? What're they staring at me for, there's nothing to stare at!" She says, thinking of her relaxed appearance and her book, and still so very confused.

Soul eyes his Meister's visible maroon sports bra and Daisy Dukes for the upteenth time, but only mumbles in the manner of a Boy unwilling to admit anything attractive other than friendship about his female companion, and grunts, "You're tellin' me."

Maka stands abruptly and Soul ducks and covers his head, peering at her through drooping, red eyes squinted in expectant caution.

"Well, whatever the reason, he's gone now. Grab your ball and let's go get some ice cream, ok?"

She has so many inflections laden in that sentence that Soul takes another thirty seconds to unlayer it, and the fact that he isn't being chopped for his implied barb. He doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth, however, and grabs his ball from under the bench, falling into step behind her right shoulder as she leads the way down the sidewalk, towards the ice cream place two blocks over. Soul keeps his eyes peeled the whole way for more creeps, glaring and posturing, cool-guy Demon Scythe style, to a few along the way. He's growing ever more satisfied to notice that they remember what he is and take the hint, skulking away from his wild white hair, bloody eyes and salivating shark teeth.

Maka pretends not to notice, but now she does, and Soul can feel a shift in her demeanor, maybe even a little in her soul, and he thinks it feels like pride, but that might be his ego. Either way, they make it to the shop and she's paying, and he's getting three scoops of his favorite flavor, and maybe Death City and this whole partnership is kind of cool in its own weird, growing-up-too-fast kind of way. Maka later ignores the fact that she becomes fully aware of Soul Eater and Black*Star "inconspicuously" getting into fist-fights with area high school boys over the next several weeks.

She ignores this in favor of the fact that if she were to spend the time and effort to contain them, she'd never get any homework done.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Soul's camped himself on the couch, dressed down in his pajama pants and t-shirt, with two cold two-litres and enough chips to choke Black*Star. He's got their cheap old TV set blaring Death City's better sports channel, watching the commentary and initial interviews before the big basketball game. Since he's home for the afternoon, and has been looking forward to this game for a week, he doesn't bother to hide his excitement as he leans over the coffee table, one arm resting on his thigh and half reaching for a bag of chips that he's temporarily forgotten about, as he watches the commentators remarking on the two team's stats and chances of winning.

Half an hour into the broadcast, and there's a niggling of something missing at the back of his mind but he can't quite place what, yet. His wandering hand lands on a crinkling bag and he snatches it up, popping it open and shoving chips into his mouth, and then, nacho powder-induced epiphany strikes and he realizes what's missing. He leans back on the couch to yell towards his Meister's partially opened bedroom door, sparkling scarlet eyes still glued on the pre-game chatter.

"Oi, Maka!" He yells politely.

He leans forward again to watch an interview with one of the fowards of the opposing team. By the time its over, he realizes he never got a response. That's ok, maybe she didn't hear him.

"Oi! Maka!" He tries again.

"What?" Comes the muffled reply.

"The game's on, you're gonna miss it! Startin' ina minute!"

"What game?" She sounds genuinely confused, and he drags his red irises from the interviews to peer at her cream yellow wall that is all he can see through the space between her door and the frame.

"The basketball game," he responds, patiently distracted as he shoves more chips into his mouth, muffling his own voice, "Nevada Vs. New York!"

"I don't really like basketball, Soul." She calls politely, and now he's the one confused. "I'm just going to read for awhile."

He grunts through the crunching of more chips, partially perplexed and partially distracted by another forward player interview, this time for the Nevada home team. How could someone so athletic not like basketball? Maka was practically _built_ to play it. He tries to shrug it off and relax back into his previous excitement, since he'd been looking forward to this for so long. But now it wasn't the same, because he realizes that one of the reasons he'd looked foward to it so much was because he had someone to watch it with. Except, now he doesn't, because apparently Maka doesn't _like_ basketball.

"Oi, Maka?" He calls again awhile later, hesitant.

It weirds him out a little just how much he wants to be better friends with her, how comfortable he is with her already. The brush of a link deeper than any he's ever felt sends quiet, barely-there tinklings of hesitant notes through his soul everyday. The empathy between their souls has an annoying habit of spiking randomly, sometimes.

"Yes, Soul?" She calls politely again.

He shifts on the couch, scowling just a little as he musters his cool back.

"You wanna read out here?"

He doesn't get a response for a minute, and the game's getting close to starting officially now, but his eyes are stupidly glued to her partly opened bedroom door. Then Maka's skinny frame fills the small opening, shorts and spaghetti-strap blouse highlighting long legs and defined clavicals as she peers at him curiously, like he'd just asked her to explain the Theory of Relativity to him and she's seriously considering it. He can only hold her intent green eyes for another second before he pretends to be interested in the announcer on TV, as she purses her lips at him. He's not sure if he wants her to refuse and close her bedroom door, or accept and come sit in the same tiny room with him.

She reaches her conclusion with a soft smile, though, and comes out with a massive textbook to sit on the low, wide loveseat next to the couch. She rests her feet on the cushion, heels at her butt as she props the ungainly book against her knees. She observes Soul's relaxed features and the tiny quirk of a grin at the edge of his mouth, where he should be bothered by the drool glistening there, and she smiles wider and resumes her studying, content to deal with the noise of the game while she does so. Some time after the game officially starts, she's all but drowned out the commentators' voices, the cheering, and the sounds of Soul shoveling junk food and soda pop into his maw, like a tiger shark going through a capsized fishing boat.

The phone rings, and she swears she's about to get up, right after this last sentence, until three rings later Soul bounces up to grab it and rush back to his seat on the couch, eyes never leaving the TV. She's amused as well as slightly frustrated by his level of attention on the game, thinking he'd sincerely benefit if he gave their classes that level of astute fixation. He manages to answer the phone without actually saying anything into it, but it apparently doesn't matter as she hears Black*Star's voice clearly screaming over the reciever. She might as well have answered the phone after all, for as well as she can hear him.

 _"SOUL! DUDE! YOU GOT THE GAME ON? YOU SEEING THIS SHIT, MAN?"_

Soul sets the phone on the coffee table among crinkled bags of chips and their many fallen and crushed crumbs, pressing a button and Maka hears the feedback indicating an open speaker conversation is about to happen. She frowns softly, still studying but considering whether she should retreat to her room soon. Soul grunts as a pass is made on the TV and he recalls, almost too late, as they both hear Black*Star suck in another breath to start screaming again, that he's got the lunatic on speaker.

"Shut up, spazz, you're on speaker." He says lazily, and they hear Black*Star sputteringly deflate.

Relative quiet returns as Maka continues through her chapter in the textbook and listens to the boys munching food. They both seem to be sucked back into the void that is this all-important basketball game, cat-calls and cheers occasionally breaking the lulls. Eventually Black*Star pipes up again, startling Soul and Maka both with his random declaration.

 _"Dude, Soul, go get Maka to watch. She never watches games with me, she totally needs to get into this, she frickin' studies too much."_

Maka puffs too quietly to be heard on the speaker, and Soul glances over at her with a grin but doesn't give her away yet.

"She's reading." He comments lightly with a slurp. Not like he was lying.

 _"So? She reads all the fucking time, she can watch a fucking game once in awhile!"_

"Black*Star, watch your language!"

Soul snorts a chuckle as Black*Star squawks with excitement, mouth obviously full of food again as he yells around it at them both,

 _"Holy shit, you got her to come watch a game?! Soul Eater! You sly dog!"_

"I am not watching the game, I'm reading!"

Maka's sitting forward on the loveseat now, long bare feet firmly planted on the floor so she can rest her book on her legs while one powerful fist rests over her prone hip. She's frowning at the phone, and Soul laughs as he watches from the corner of his eye, not losing track of the game as a rare time-out is called.

 _"In the same room as Soul while he watches basketball?"_

Black*Star cackles and Soul snorts a little at his Meister's rising ire and pink cheeks, but wisely covers it by shoving more chips into his mouth as Maka grits, "Shut up, Black*Star!" and brings her legs back up to her chest again, resting her book over her knobby knees once more.

Soul comments idly on his choice of snackage, and Black*Star offers him godly approval on his manly and cool choices. Soul chuckles, asking what Black*Star is eating, since the other Meister has got no manners at all, and Maka needs some breathing space; he can feel the blush on her cheeks and wonders just how hard Black*Star used to try to get her to watch games, and if he should be feeling awkward at how easily he got her to sit through one with him. He knows the rambunctious game, as well as he and their mutual friend, have all but obliterated her studying for the night.

 _"Tsubaki made me nigiri! Fuckin' great! Not enough, tho."_

Black*Star responds to his question, loudly shoving said nigiri into his mouth mid-sentence with disgusting sound effects that Soul is a little jealous of. They hear a small, bashful _"Sorry!"_ from the background, and Soul knows Tsubaki must be watching the game dutifully with her Technician at their small place.

"Use your manners, Black*Star! Tsubaki didn't have to make you anything! You don't have to make him anything, Tsubaki-chan!"

Maka's leaned forward again, book almost forgotten by this point, and her pink cheeks are ones of indignation as she scolds Black*Star for his ungratefulness. A soft, sweet voice comes over the call, and they're both instinctually soothed at the smile and amusement they can hear in it.

 _"Hi, Maka-chan! Hello Soul-kun! Enjoy the game!"_

"Hi, Tsubaki-chan!" Maka greets her friend happily.

"Yeah." Soul grunts with a smile, chugging down the last bit of pop from one of his two-litres. He releases a belch that reverberates in the living room, and Black*Star howels with laughter as Maka chops him in the head with her book, and his team scores a two-point shot. Black*Star's laughter turns into howels of rage.

 _"Dude, this game is shit! We're down by_ three _!"_ He thunders through the crackly house phone.

"What're you talking about? New York's winning, I'm good." Soul is smug through his aching head as he waits for the dynamite to boom.

 _"THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE GOOD, YOU FUCKING DICKLESS BITCHFACE TRAITOR!"_

And there's his boom, as a resounding crash makes it through the phone, along with more swearing from Black*Star, and Tsubaki's panicky voice attempting to soothe her hair-trigger Meister.

"BLACK*STAR WATCH YOUR DAMN MOUTH!"

Maka screams, and Soul wonders if its automatic that Technicians fly off the handle aggressively whenever they hear another Tech raging, or if that's only Maka and Black*Star. He bounces in his seat with excitement as his team scores _another_ point, and Black*Star starts all over again.

 _"DEFEND YOUR GOD! WHO'S SIDE ARE YOU ON?!"_

"I'm not on anyone's side, idiot! I'm _not watching the game!_ "

Soul peers at Maka, watching her posture - leaning forward with her fists on her hips, glaring hotly at the phone as if it were the god-besting lunatic himself - and he's pretty sure he's never seen her so lively at home since they moved in together. It's kind of fascinating, especially when it's not directed at him. Her face is a neat shade of red usually reserved for frustration when a new scythe technique is giving her trouble. He grins broadly as he listens to his Technician and her oldest friend arguing about sides, and about cussing, and the merits of basketball on society. He's pretty sure he still hears Tsubaki resignedly murmuring in the background, and he watches the action on the TV feeling the most content he thinks he could be.

Nevada finally scores a two-point basket, and Black*Star interrupts his and Maka's argument to whoop and holler, and blasts Soul with smack-talk. Maka gets in on it just for spite, taking up New York's side without even understanding anything that's actually going on in the game. At this point, Soul is only half invested in the game - with time running down and his team's lead, they're not likely to lose. He blasts his best bro with some choice smack-talk of his own, cleverly avoiding swears so Maka doesn't chop him again, and sits back to laugh as his best guy friend and his Meister shriek at each other like the rowdy brats they all are. He's pretty sure he even hears Tsubaki laughing now.

This night couldn't have been set up better if he'd planned it out himself; junk food for supper, the game with his friends, no homework (that he's going to do), and no missions. The only thing that could make it better was if he'd thought to bet Black*Star money on the game beforehand.

"Hey, Black*Star," he rumbles under the commotion, and it takes two more consecutively louder calls to get the guy's attention. He goads the Technician when he finally answers, betting him a hundred dollars and three pizzas that Nevada can't come back before the timer ends, _because they suck that much_.

 _"YOU'RE ON, PISSBABY!"_

Is the cocky response he gets, and he leans back, slurping drool and pop as he listens to Maka scream a lecture at their friend for screaming, for insulting her Weapon, and because _Death damned boys!_

The next night they have pizza for dinner, with left overs, and Soul has a black eye, six new records, and a new set of headphones - with cash to spare.

Maka may not understand basketball, but now she thinks she kind of gets why the boys like it.


	3. Just Desserts

**AN:** Rated M, be warned, this chapter is sexual and mature. Just Soul and Maka burning off a little steam and taking an evening to indulge in a little oral. Probably not as well written as previous stories, but definitely as mature; nothing but smutty, plotless smut. This is one of those chapters that has nowhere to lead and nothing to add to any storyline or background, just another "what if" between the lines.

* * *

 **Just Desserts**

Soul leans against the kitchen entryway, watching his Meister at the sink, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, washing dishes. He's a little drowsy from the day, and knows she is too, both of them lazily aware of the other and enjoying the awareness. He's already showered and changed his clothes, for once free for the moment of homework, training, or missions. Maka hasn't bothered to change yet, having made, eaten and now cleaning up dinner almost fully uniformed. She's hung up her coat and removed her sweatervest and tie, loosening her shirt a few buttons, but otherwise she looked like she could walk out the door again any minute. Soul leans his head against the wall, roving his eyes down her perky frame. He loves her uniform, probably always has, and he'd like her to be relaxed for the night like him, but he's certainly not going to suggest she change her clothes.

She finishes her last couple dishes, setting them aside to dry and turns off the sink, drying her hands. She peers at Soul over her shoulder, grinning and giving him a look he's come to recognize instantly, mostly by the clear hum it sends through his soul and the electric jolt it sends to his groin. He pushes himself from the wall and comes to her, embracing her from behind and running his hands languidly over her shoulders and sides and hips. He presses his face into the back of her neck as she giggles softly, leaning into him and reaching back to run her fingers through his warm, thick hair. He presses kisses into the hair at the nape of her neck, coming round to kiss along her jaw and then her lips when she turns to meet him.

Their experiences with each other intimately have grown so much over the last several months, they've come to reach a certain balance, a resonance of heavy petting and frequent visits to Third Base that has him instantly hard and her openly erotic. This time is no different, as he kisses her tenderly, enthralled without agitation by her simple, nonchalant and open affection. Her lips are thin, and soft, a contrast to the loud and commanding voice she often uses, especially with him. She offers him tongue and he happily accepts, overtaking her mouth with his own monstrous one but she rarely has any complaints with it. They're both flushed and breathing solidly through their noses, and she gently, repetitively, grips and releases his hair, and he loves it.

She pulls her lips back for a moment, leaning away just an inch to keep him from following as she breathes against his panting, only-slightly-drooly mouth, "Would you like to do something for me, Soul?"

Maka's voice reverberates through his pulsing blood and he can't control pressing his hard-on into the crease of her rump, hands reverently massaging over her long, firm belly and over her warm breasts. She hums and fists his hair a bit more, holding her other hand firmly over one of his. He buries his nose into her neck, nuzzling under her collar, kissing with teeth and then moving up to kiss hard and open mouthed on her little jaw as he mumbles, "Mm, probly, what's it?"

They're both too distracted to care about his amazing word-skills at the moment.

"I want you to go down on me."

And it's Maka who's always been the best speaker of the two, anyhow, as Soul groans against her jaw, his own voice vibrating through her mouth and neck, and she kisses his lips wetly as he tries to reply and remember how to breathe at the same time. Every time she lets him so much as touch her like this, it makes his head spin.

"Here?"

She knows he's referring to the spot they're both currently standing in, just as they both know neither of them have the teenage braincells to spare to make it somewhere else. He laves his tongue along the side of her neck, looking for a good spot for a hidden hickey, fully enjoying this whole situation. Soul is not at all against going down on Maka anywhere, anytime - hell, even if he had an audience, as long as Maka enjoyed it.

"Yes, please." Is her simple affirmation, and he presses his hard-on into her again, giving her hips a squeeze.

She moans throatily, and it goes straight through his balls, and he twitches in his pants as he drops to his knees, kissing down her back and spreading heat as he goes. There's no hurry as he flips her skirt up, juggling between keeping it out of his way and pulling her panties down her legs, already pressing his nose and hungry kisses onto her amazing, tight little ass cheeks. She's so tiny, so much power in such a small package, but the curve of her ass is perfect. He releases her skirt as he runs his hands down her flushed legs while he drags her panties slowly down her skin. He kisses over the appearance of any stray scar he comes across, reveling in each one for the mark that it is, the stories of her triumphs and experiences written on her skin.

He squeezes his fingers over the fronts of her powerful thighs, down her knobby and insanely sturdy kneecaps, then over hard shins - all anatomy that he's been familiar with in varying capacity for years now, and it never ceases to stir him with awe and lust both. He kisses hotly down the backs of her thighs and knees as he works her panties over her boots, grinning against her skin because she's still wearing them in the first place. Her disdain for sparing the time to remove extra accessories turns him on as much as the image of her in her ass-kicker, metal covered boots, sans panties.

He has to adjust himself through his sweats as he works his lips back up her legs, listening to her soft encouragements and breathy sighs above him. She's leaning as comfortably as she can on the edge of the sink, dish towels under her elbows for cushioning, and he asks her if she wants to move somewhere else while he undoes the tie on his pants and tilts his head around her hip to study her flushed face. He's not sure he can stand up again, so close to one of his most favorite places in the world, but if she asks him to he'll move to the ends of the Earth if necessary.

Maka doesn't seem uncomfortable enough to move, and she confirms this after he asks, and he grins as he settles back into his task, his pants now pushed down and one hand lazily fisting his weeping dick through his boxers. He's still got her panties in his other hand, and as he lifts her skirt over her bottom again he has to redirect precious brain power to resist pulling his dick out and rubbing her panties over it. He's not sure what her reaction to that level of perversion would be if she caught him, so he distracts himself from the desire by burying his nose into her.

She moans an encouragement again, and he moans into her soft mound, nosing her wet lips and taking deep breaths of her heady scent. His tongue wiggles into her folds and presses against her clit, wetting it and drawing soft circles around it, savoring the tiny smoothness under his sensitive tongue. He works open mouthed kisses over the soft, trimmed curls of her outer lips, nuzzling with his own against her inner folds and then sucking gently against her labia, pressing into her as she presses back into his face. He can hear her rustling fabric somewhere above him, and he assumes she's probably working at her tits by now, tweaking her nipples as he rubs and pushes his tongue into her entrance, slurping and drinking with relish and no small amount of obscene noises and moans - most of which he does on purpose because he knows it pushes her buttons, in all kinds of cheeky ways.

He loves her taste, can't get enough of just drinking from the source, the taste and feel and smell of her all combined together against his tongue and lips drives him crazy. He wants to feel every groove, and dip, and wet inch of her inside and out under his tongue, wants to go down on her for hours, wishes they had time so he could. She's insanely sensitive and responsive, and her noises make his ears ring while her thighs in any other position nearly suffocate him, and he loves every second of it. He was afraid he'd never learn to keep up with her, to pace her, but he gets better every time, and she wields her desire for him and her pleasure from him like she wields his scythe - powerful, competent, humble and brazen.

He can't resist bringing up a hand to work long fingers into her, reluctant to lose the source of her wonderful nectar, but also too excited to resist the amazing feel of her, hot, tight and soaked on his hand, and the incredible noises and reactions he gets when he fingers her. He runs his other hand up her leg, getting leverage on her hip and pushing her skirt back up out of his face, her panties still clutched in his fingers. Her legs are bent wide over him, and he bends a little between her knees to get at her clit with his tongue again, trying to keep room for both his fingers and his mouth, although from the back in this position it isn't easy or quick. He's in no hurry, though, regardless of his aching erection, and he rubs her hip lovingly, panties twisting with his fingers and bunching up with her skirt until she reaches down, peering around her arm and mumbling to him.

"Ahhh, here, sorry - mmm - I'll hold those f'you."

He curls his fingers for her, pressing deep and firm, and moans his reluctance against her as his other hand regretfully releases the panties she's gently pulling out of his grip; although she nearly drops them and forgets altogether what she's doing as his fingers and tongue coil her pleasure tighter and tighter. Soul finds just the right places to add his curved teeth, and she croons with pending carnal relief, a sound she knows he likes. It's almost enough to make her forget to file away her observation of how reluctant he is to give her back her own panties. She wants to tease and niggle him for this observation, but she doesn't know language right now except his name and yes, more, Death, right there. She's so close, they can both feel it, hear it in her singing soul and crooning moans.

Maka's fist clenches the garment in breathless lust from his attentions towards suckling her clit and finding her g-spot. As soon as she'd started this level of intimacy with him, he'd quickly become adept at seeking out the hidden gem after she'd mentioned it to him once or twice, almost off-handedly. She hadn't expected him to be so devoted to finding so much pleasure for her, but really, she should have. Soul was nothing if not unaccountably devoted to her - as his Meister, his closest friend, bearer of his soul, and now the Girl who fools around with him. Maka had learned over the years that though it was not unusual for a Weapon to be devoted to their Technician, Soul Eater had taken it upon himself - mostly by his nature (she'd deduced), and (she suspected) a bit by his upbringing - to be loyal and devout to an almost suicidal and masochistic degree.

He never lost his individuality for her, but he was rarely above being a doting partner, regardless of whatever show he put on to ensure his coolness stayed intact in the process. It was really rather endearing and heartening, not that most people outside their Shibusen lifestyle would probably agree.

It was also extremely sexy, as he tightly sucks her clit between his lips, flicking it alternately with his tongue, fingers still working hard and deep and curled just right, barely missing a beat inside her. He was always up for a challenge, and he certainly wasn't letting this one go without a fight; Maka knew this position would be a bit uncomfortable for them both, his knees and his hard cock must be killing him, but that was part of what made it such a huge turn-on for her. She thrusts back against his fingers, trying to keep tempo with him as her orgasm builds, hotter and hotter, roiling her lower belly in the best way, and she tweaks her nipples with one hand, desperately gripping the edge of the sink with the other. Her legs are starting to burn from holding this position, a pleasant ache of exertion for a good (great) cause. She can't stop the moans of Soul's name, and he knows she's close now, as he hums and twirls his long tongue in too many places, like he can flatten and push and lave all of her at once, even with his strong fingers in the way.

He pulls a move he doesn't often use on her, giving her three hard and perfect thrusts as he gives her one firm smack on her bottom, and it's the last thrust and lips and tongue pulling at her clit that finally send her over the edge, careening over a canyon with a sweet descant to accompany the fall. She feels more than hears him moan his own joy against her, fingers keeping up a hard, fast tempo until her orgasm becomes too intense and he backs off, as he's learned to do, slowing his strong digits and circling around her clit gently to coax her pleasure to a humming buzz. She can barely breathe, and her legs twitch and muscles tighten, close to cramping, and she can feel Soul's breath panting against her as he slowly removes his fingers, and she knows he's licking them clean, has watched him do it before. She can't stop the pitchy, breathless moan that escapes at the memory before she feels his tongue again, gentle and loving, cleaning her all over and her smile is wider than the Nevada desert.

As she comes down from her orgasm, she slowly shifts her legs back together, straightening a bit and feeling the stretch and burn in her thighs and knees. She tosses her panties to the side to drift onto the floor, ignored for now. Soul shifts around on the floor below her, stretching his legs out one at a time, still pressing hot, tongue-wet kisses through her clothes all over her lower back and hips as he moves. She's vaguely impressed he hasn't fallen over yet, as he stretches his legs out, big hands stroking madly over her sides, back, rump, and his dick. She giggles at him softly, eyes drooping with contentment as she feels him nose under her skirt again. Her afterglow lull is rudely interrupted as her Weapon sinks his great white teeth into the swell of her ass. She squeals and reaches back to smack him hard in the side of the head, a lot embarrassed, a little turned on, and a bit in pain.

"Would you stop that!" She admonishes, blushing furiously anew and glaring at his big, messy grin. "You mouthy, cheeky little porbeagle!"

He laughs at her insult, rubbing his cheek against her tight bottom.

"Yeah, but your cheeks are the best." He goads, teasing her in several ways with just the one innuendo.

Sometimes, it really annoys her when he's clever. It doesn't stop the smile, or the satisfaction, that rolls through them both, as she turns around in his hands, bending to meet and devour his clever, snarky, dirty mouth. She licks his lips, and he pants hotly against her face through his nose, groaning wantonly and squeezing his dripping cock with negligible frustration. It's a testament to their times together that he doesn't come two seconds in, anymore. His damn knees hurt so bad they're practically numb, but the urge to stand before she's completely done with him doesn't even cross his mind. Especially as she starts talking against his mouth, something he loves and hates at the same time.

"If I'd known you were only going to be more of a pain in my ass, I never would've let you start going down on me." She grouses, though her orgasm-rough, airy voice does little to portray any real annoyance.

"Yeah, you would've," he rumbles thickly against her lips, running his tongue over them and pushing into her mouth - just to be pushed out again, her own more petite tongue trying to reach his tonsils before he pulls back to finish teasing her, "even Maka Albarn can't resist my level of bad-ass coolness."

He's grinning and reaching around to grope her bare flesh under her skirt, but Maka can always sense the well-hidden, barely perceptible, fluctuation of precarious self-esteem and image issues in his wavelength, the sensations he keeps buried under his youthful wild streak and mature loyalty. Sometimes she wonders if he ever realizes how often he seems to seek his closest peers' approval, even from her. She steps in closer to him, pressing her body against his torso and tangling her fingers through his hair again to pull his head back further, forcing heady eye contact. She smells and tastes like him, his spit and her sex, and he's still flushed pink down to his neck, and she's willing to bet he's probably still harder than rock, though from this angle, she can't really see the tent from this height.

She smiles to him fully, openly affectionate and unabashed by it, and she can tell by his bright red eyes, blown pupils and relaxed face that he sees it, and her heart jumps at the returned affection. She steps back a bit from him, leaning against the sink without releasing his hair as she drags her eyes blatantly down his body, admiring the straining attention in his comfortable boxers. She likes to watch him watch her from the corner of her eye, knows they both love it, and she runs her hand up her stomach under her rumpled, half-open shirt to palm her own breasts. He licks his lips and grunts a low, approving hum as he watches her, running his own hand over his clothed cock. Their eyes meet and she just enjoys the contact for a moment, pinching and pulling her nipple gently over the cup of her bra as he breathes deeply and swallows drool watching her.

With a grin he calls satisfied and wicked, so unlike his usual sweet-hearted Meister, she gives his hair a directive pull, guiding him to his feet. He is a doting partner, indeed, but she is not above doting on her Weapon. He's so good at everything he does, and it's a power in its own right, one that she loves to share with him, a power she enjoys displaying when she has a craving for the feel of him in her mouth, his most intimate skin on her tongue, the heat, the taste. He stands obediently, suspecting what's coming, but never expecting it.

She slowly goes to her knees, running her hands down his chest and taking time to enjoy his warmth, his solidity. She leaves kisses here and there on her way down, nuzzling his belly and hooking her fingers into his waistband as she comes to rest on her knees. His hands gently, warmly, rest over her shoulders, fingers brushing the back of her neck. He sighs out a breath he'd forgotten not to hold as she pulls his boxers down to meet his pants on his thighs, then pulls both gradually to the floor.

Green, burning eyes watch his anticipating red stare as he's released from his clothes, as she all but ignores his exposed cock for the moment of eye contact, wicked and knowing. He swallows thickly again, pent up and panting, and he tries to keep his cool when he can barely find his voice.

"You know you don't have to do anything, it's not tit for tat."

His growling but gentle words are unintentionally undermined by the precum that drips from the head of his shaft, and Maka's gaze drops to watch it before lifting back to his face with a hungry grin. God, he'll never get used to how raunchy she can be; he'll never complain, either.

"You know I don't do anything I don't choose to. I happen to enjoy this, it's not an obligation."

Her tone is firm, still breathy from her orgasm, but clear and concise as it ever is in the middle of class. He's pretty sure it's weird a combination that his wet dreams are made of. Warm, softly calloused hands run up his thighs to grasp his balls with a grip like his steel, and he can't find his voice again as he softly protests,

"Oohhh, yeah, but, you - "

"Soul Eater." She commands, and he has to bite his lip hard to stop from coming, "Shut up, and let me enjoy myself."

His voice is strangled, tight, and reverent as she rolls and massages his sac, her other hand firmly coming into play around the bulk of him and turning his mind further to mush as he croaks, "Yes, my queen."

He hadn't meant to use the teasing, old pet name again so plaintively, he'd meant for it to be more sexily snarky, but it left his lips the same as his sanity is quickly leaving his brain. Maka doesn't seem unsatisfied with it, however, as she hums approvingly in the back of her throat, lowering her gaze once more to watch the proud presentation of his attraction in front of her. 'Standing at full attention' is putting it mildly, and she's as proud as she is aroused at the reaction she causes in him. Her mouth waters, and all for the better, as she laves her own wet tongue over the palm of one hand, running it down his length from base to head, and Soul moans deeply. She's still a little awkward and embarrassed with the technique, but she learned quickly that the perversity of it, and wetness from it, gets Soul going quick and hard, so she employs it and gets a little less embarrassed each time.

She does the same thing to her other hand, and then once more, until her spit and his own precum have given him a nice lube for her to glide her hands over. She pulls and squeezes him from base to head a few times, watching the flushing red beneath the skin of his legs and pelvis and the flush of his cheeks that rival his scarlet eyes. "Haaahh.." he exhales shakily, as she takes the head of him into her mouth, gliding it against her tongue as she sucks gently, still pulling from his pelvic to her lips.

Soul sets his legs a little wider, trying to sturdy himself against his quickly crossing vision and the desperate desire to thrust into Maka's mouth as she works into a steady, deliberate rhythm. He imagines the sensation of pushing all the way into her hot, wet mouth, feeling her tongue and the back of her throat - maybe even a little scrape of her teeth - and he uses the real sensation of her wet hands on his shaft to fulfill the fantasy, unwilling to take any control away from his unpredictably sexual Meister. She gives a small, satisfied sound of approval as her hands yield more flesh to her mouth, and her tongue does insanely limber and pulse-pounding things to the underside of his dick. She closes her teeth at intervals around his shaft, just touching enough to feel the pressure more than the scrape, before sealing her lips to suck hard on her way back before gliding forward again.

Loving, shaking fingers run reverently through her hair, his other fist clenched tightly at his side, as Soul bites his bottom lip as he moans through his nose with ecstasy. She is too good to him, she's too much, he can't take much of this tonight. She's barely started for him, but he's already so worked up from going down on her, the smell and taste of her still all over his mouth and in his nose, and when he looks down to meet her blazing, aroused gaze he just about loses it right then.

"Haahh, God, Maka... I - "

Her hands have moved from his shaft to holding his hips, and as he tries to find the words to ask if she wants to take her time or wants him to finish quickly, she nearly pushes him over the edge like the over-excitable teenager he is, as her lips meet the base of his cock, nose buried in the trim carpet that matches the drapes. An animalistic growl he can't stop escapes his throat, and his fingers momentarily tighten in her hair, unable to stop himself before it happens. The sensation and pleasure that throbs into his balls curls his toes into the linoleum and he pitches forward the barest inch, nearly toppling over Maka's head. She sucks hard on the base of his dick, dragging her mouth backwards, tongue dragging along that vein the whole way. The pressure as she reaches his head is just short of his impending orgasm, and he sucks in a shocked breath as her mouth disappears completely before his body can really finish sending the signal to come.

He hears her wet one of her hands again and feels it on his cock, stroking firmly but a little more gently as her mouth moves to nuzzle and lave open-mouthed kisses across his testicles, his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to keep them from bulging out of his skull. She moans happily against his skin, an echo to his own wanton rumbles, warm breath cooling over the saliva she's so expertly learned to spread on him.

"Goodd, Maka, I'm not gonna make it much longer.." he huffs into her hair, as he bends over to kiss her head, cramping his abs a bit but so worth it to smell her hair and kiss her head again before he has to spring back up to relieve the cramp.

He watches her watch him as she licks more dripping precum from his slit the way he's watched her devour ice cream for years, whole-hearted and so satisfied, and groans again, so happy she's in to letting him see her like this. She doesn't reply to his desperate warning, but continues to lick and suck at the sensitive slit of his cock, sucking and kissing and gently biting down the head and down his shaft, suckling and licking his balls in turn. She takes him all the way into her mouth, practically down her throat, one more time, and spasms start through his abdomen and now he can't hold back even if he wanted to. She feels him tense under her lips, pulls back enough to give his seed room in her mouth as his sac pulls up and he feels his orgasm crash over him, throbbing through him and into his best friend's mouth as he feels her tongue all over the underside of his dick as he comes.

Soul roars her name, moaning as each wave erupts from him, filling Maka's mouth. She's never been fond of the after-taste, but before it hits, the flavor is actually quite pleasant, and his orgasms are always intense and satisfying for them both. She's often dubious of his descriptions of how much he loves the way she comes, but if she's anything like he is when he unravels for her, she can kind of understand why he makes such a big deal of it. His thighs are flexed as if he's supporting the weight of a mountain, toes curled into the floor as if he could grow talons to keep himself from floating away from Earth, and she tolerates a tightened grip into her hair as his other hand holds onto her shoulder for dear life.

The thrumming and buzzing that flows between both of them during moments like this is nothing short of electric and soul-searching.  
She loosens the vacuum she'd created around his shaft, gently suckling down his length and back up again as she swallows a not unsubstantial load, moaning gently around his flesh as he heaves for breath above her head. She kisses and strokes gently all over his hips, and pelvis and sac, nuzzling and showing the same affection and attention he'd given her not minutes prior. His legs gradually relax, and he leans over her again, gently nudging her head up to kiss him, running fingers apologetically through the hair he'd gripped a few seconds ago. She returns the kiss deeply, always a little surprised but equally turned on by his unchaste willingness to run his tongue everywhere in her mouth after she's sucked him off. She holds his cheeks in her hands, kissing his nose and smiling widely at his blazing face, kissing him tenderly one more time before she dips away from him again.

Soul blinks blearily, languidly watching her as she begins pulling his boxers and pants back up his shaking legs. He smiles as he realizes what she's doing and stoops to help her, helping her back to her feet when they're done. Maka groans in good-natured discomfort as the pain in her knees finally breaks through both of their hazes of arousal, and she begins to second guess oral sex sessions in the kitchen. Maybe she'll buy cushions for the kitchen chairs; they always were a bit hard to enjoy breakfast on, and having extra cushions nearby has proven useful recently.

Soul's hot breath in her ear, nuzzling and kissing her cheek and neck, brings her out of her revelry and she brings her shoulder up with a smile against the unexpected ticklishness of his warm, heavy breathing against her flushed and sensitive ears. He laughs at her reaction, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pressing her hard into his solid, lithe body, reverently reaching down to fondle the still naked globes of her bottom. She squeals a soft giggle and gently pushes at his chest, trying to steer him out of the kitchen with admonishments about staying up late and early mornings. He presses back, unwilling to separate from her and possibly gaining a second wind to go down on her again, trying his damnedest to convince her of letting him do just that.

Whispered promises of lingering lips, hot tongues, and deep reaching fingers aside, though, they really do need to get to bed. She hadn't intended on dragging the encounter out, but she'd been wound so tight all day, and Soul has shown nothing but supportive eagerness since they'd begun being intimate together. She swallows his promises for later, whispering threats and coaxes of her own, steering him via his palms over her breasts atop her rumpled clothes out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom - where, much to his shock and chagrin, she deposits him with another kiss and a giggle as she skips out his door towards the bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed. Soul blinks at the empty space where she stood seconds before, still basking in the heat and splendor of their escapades in the kitchen, complete with a goofy grin that can't be wiped away, even under threat of cool-factor revocation.


	4. When It Rains, It Pours

**AN:** Rated **M** , I suppose, simply for some foul language and the description of taking a leak. No smut, no sex, just lots of embarrassment all around. There comes a point in every partnership as tightly knit as the ones shared by Shibusen students when bathroom necessities become an intimacy that is filed under the Knowing Too Much category for both partners. When you gotta go, you gotta go, and nature could care piss-all about who sees you doing it.

* * *

 **When It Rains, It Pours**

He probably should have pissed before they hiked all the way down from the school proper, he mulls as he climbs on his bike a bit more gingerly than normal, and waits for his distracted Technician to pull her nose out of her notebook. She's double-checking a note she took to cross-reference a textbook, and she wants to make sure she doesn't have to go get the textbook itself to double-check the information she took from it. Normally, Soul is more than happy to wait around for her, let her take all the time she needs, because it's not like he needs to be anywhere without her. But today he's gotta _go_ , and he just wants to get home and duck in the bathroom before even thinking about anything else.

"Maka."

She kind of leans her body towards him, imperceptibly except to Soul, and he rolls his eyes at her minimal acknowledgement, shifting impatiently. He has to consciously stop himself from taking a grip over his crotch, and his teeth are starting to float. He tries again, gruffer and more impatient. He doesn't like rushing her, but fuck he's gonna piss his pants in a minute.

" _Maka._ "

"What, Soul?"

"We need to get home, c'mon, you can check your notes-that-don't-need-to-be-checked there."

"What's your rush? You got a big date tonight?"

She's being snarky, getting annoyed with him and her notes, he can tell, but that's the last thing on his mind. Fuck, a _bedpan_ would do at this point. His eyeballs are swimming, and it is _not cool_ to have _accidents_ at their age, and he'll be damned if he's gotta find a non-existent bush around the campus to whip it out in. That would be a badass move to make, but he's not in the mood to put up with the head trauma his Technician would ensure he'd barely survive. He's also pretty sure he's not gonna make it back up the school's steps in time to make it to one of the restrooms inside. So with a surreptitious glance around them to be sure no one can see him lose his cool, even the slightest, he pulls out a big gun and throws his head back to let loose the most mournful, pathetic, annoying, immature groan he can muster.

"AauuuuuggggghhhhhhhMakaaaaahhhhh."

It does the trick, as he'd hoped, and Maka snaps her wrist at his head, whipping him painfully in the temple with her sharp, gloved fingers.

" _All right_ , you whiney brat."

"Thank God, c'mon already."

She puffs her cheeks out and grumbles irritably as she stuffs her notebook into her bag, climbing on behind him and digging hard fingers into his sides for good measure, as she mutters her discontent in his ear. He doesn't hear it for long as he guns the engine and starts their way home, relief flooding him at the prospect of a bathroom on arrival. He can barely keep his legs from squeezing shut over the bike as he tears down the familiar streets, Maka complaining the whole way.

Not that she's afraid of his speeding, but it aggravates her when he's unnecessarily impudent within the city. He grips it harder, just to piss her off and because he's already pissed, just in a much worse state. He'll pay for rushing her and purposefully being a brat later, but for now, he just really wants his bathroom.

His bathroom is denied him, however, as he's glomped unceremoniously upon stepping his first foot through the front door. Maka, seasoned Meister that she's becoming, easily side-stepped Blair's welcome-home glomp, leaving him to be blinded by massive cleavage in his water-logged, distracted state.

"God dammit, Blair!" Soul hollers uselessly, and the cat just giggles as she gropes at him.

"You two behave!" Maka commands lazily over her shoulder as she heads for her room.

Under any other circumstances, he may take a round-about pleasure in pushing Blair's jiggling chest from his face, but at the moment, he's about to explode with a fluid nobody wants. He fusses and cusses and is confused when he isn't brained and rescued jointly by his Meister. He barely manages to get their inhumanely sexual cat away from him, gasping for breath and control of his bladder in the process, when it occurs to him that he can hear the shower running. He darts to the bathroom door, pounding and yelling as Blair skips happily back to the kitchen, her mischief accomplished.

"Maka, what the hell, I need the bathroom!" He hollers over the sound of the ocean in his bladder.

He hears Maka's blasé voice come through the wood, muffled by the running shower and echoing off the linoleum and tile, as his red eyes begin to turn yellow and cross.

"I was here first! I'm only going to be ten minutes, Soul, I just wanted to get my shower over with before dinner."

"I'm not gonna make it ten minutes!" He shouts at her desperately, violently shaking the unlocked knob for emphasis, hand unabashedly clutching his shaft through his jeans now.

"Just cover up and let me piss real quick, I can't hold it that long!"

"Soul, you're a big boy, you can do it." She tells him obnoxiously, and he can tell the point is settled as far as she's concerned.

Except that nature doesn't work that way, and he really _can't_ do it, and he makes the fateful decision between pissing out the window or barging into the bathroom while his female Technician is in the shower. He's gonna die a painful death, but at least his bladder will be empty, he consoles himself as he turns the knob and bursts through the door. There's a rush of heat and steam and the strong scent of Maka's shower gel, and maybe if he's quiet she won't even know he's blustered in.

But there's an echoing 'tack' as he flips the seat up in his hurry, and Maka sticks her head around the corner of the shower curtain to see what made the noise, and he's literally caught with his pants open and his hands digging his dick out.

The rush of terror does nothing to help the pressure in his groin, and he can't even take the time to act as chagrined as he feels as he whips it out and takes aim. Maka's contorting red face disappears back behind the shower curtain and she screams a war cry that echoes terrifyingly through the cramped space. He can't help how impressed he is as the cacophony of sounds mingle in the small room, the competing of the whooshing shower, his built-up stream, and her raging screams sending echoes through the air that must be rattling the whole apartment. He splutters as he empties into the bowel, beside himself with both relief and mortification, barely coherent, as he and Maka both yell over each other.

"Triedtowarnyou!I'msorryMaka!Igottapisscan'tholditI'mreallyfuckingsorry!"  
"SOUL EATER, GET OUT OF THIS BATHROOM RIGHT NOW!"

"Maka, unless you want me to pee all over the floor, you're just gonna have to wait it out!"

All of his apologies fall on deaf ears, his stream still fluidly punctuating the whole debacle, and the next thing he knows he's being pelted in the head with shampoo bottles. _His_ shampoo. And his body wash, and her shampoo, and Blair's. He flails the arm nearest the shower, desperately trying to keep his aim with his other hand, and trying to shield his face at the same time.

"God damn it, Maka, you're gonna get it everywhere, knock it off!"

Even though he's mildly impressed she's managed every bull's eye with the shower curtain still tightly closed.

"Soul Eater, so help me, if you get that anywhere but in that toilet, you will clean it up _with your face_!"

And he blanches, because that's her _Meister_ voice, and he knows she'll carry through with it.

"Then stop chuckin' shampoo at me!"

He nearly begs, but he's got more control slowly coming back as his bladder shrinks in obscene relief.

 _"Get outta this bathroom!"_

Finally, he's down to enough trickle to shake it off and pack it in, flushing in almost the same motion and sprinting out the door before even he knows he's made it to safety. His face is burning red, and he's panting and didn't even get to wash his hands. He's also pretty sure he didn't have time to put the seat back down. Shit, that'll just add to his list of offenses warranting the Maka Death Penalty. Blair, with her uncanny ability to sense strife and chaos, comes smugly slinking around the corner and bee-lines straight for him again, narrowing in on his blazing face and radiating panic. He bolts to his room like the overwhelmed Boy he is, slamming the door behind himself and hiding under his blankets.

He spends the next ten minutes torn between the knowledge that he was right next his naked Meister in the shower, and how humiliating it is for both parties when someone needs to piss while the other's trying to wash.

He vows from that day forward to never ignore an opportunity to take a whizz when presented the chance to safely do so.


End file.
